Into the Woods

Not strangers these, but faces known, at least to some. The man had the appearance of Thomas Wychwood, that scion of an unchancy clan of dream-mages and courtly illusionists, and the woman his sister, her face bright and hair spiked in the fashion of woad-stiffened Caledonian zealots. And Thomas spoke to me and asked where I was bound, and when I warned him of the forest he laughed and bade me turn again lest we be lost for good. I smiled, but refused, for I was sworn to carry message and report to Benedict at the Keep, and in truth the ways of the Wychwoods’ bring me doubt, for though I be a spinner of tales, the boasts of Thomas and his kin strike yet an unchancy chord of weird mischance to my earthly ears. But Will spoke close to me then, and said that it would be best that someone look to the Wychwoods’ and their safety, and yet perchance knowledge might be gleaned by the most contorted of sources, and so volunteered to return to the lodge in their company. I reluctantly agreed, and bade Will go, for though I had great faith in his arts and talents I had conceived a great foreboding for the woods that eve.